


The Same Ol' Shit

by The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags/pseuds/The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags
Summary: Citadel of Ricks: the perfect place for all versions of Rick Sanchez to live: the smartest man in the entire universe. After, and before the destruction of the Citadel carried by C-137, there are three stories that must be told: a student who is not a simple student, a fighting cock who wants to escape the Aesculapius, and two policemen who aspire to the world of crime and justice. The same old shit: what always happens normally in the Citadel, what its inhabitants have to live.





	1. Ricktraining Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just enjoy the first chapter of... more than 6.000 words?! Geez: This was too much for everyone. If you excuse me, I'm gonna stop of inject me my favourite stuff: writing. Please sorry.

-Repeat after me: "What an incredible adventure, Rick!"- A teacher, a pedagogue wanted his pupils to say the spell. The psalmody was repeated in the living room: -"What an incredible adventure, Rick!"-. Seconds later, the students followed, all of them were male. They were delayed due to the constant desire for drowsiness caused by the first hours of a long day. -"Rick, you are very smart". - The teacher reviewed the class, walking. He was taking gentle steps. He didn't want his blister of blood to spoil the authority he naturally had (he hobbled). It could be controlled for the moment. Only about forty-five minutes separated him from taking his briefcase, making a formula to solve that problem, and teaching fully. His students listened intently. -"I’m honored to be your Morty". - The students replied like parrots. Thus two more repetitions of sentences passed. They all praised Rick. They prayed for dominance. That was the key. That was what professor Rick said to himself. And he completely agreed with it. He was fine with it. Why shouldn't he be? He, along with all his versions, are the smartest beings on the face of everything. And _they_? They are the equivalent to the offspring. The Mortys are, for many, the last echelon. They weren’t the protagonists of something: they were the secondary role in the great plot that life is.

Before Rick followed his sentence, he noticed something, like a hawk positioning his eyes on a Morty. It was the fifth in the fourth row. Due to the size of the place, this Morty could easily go unnoticed. The master Rick saw it because this Morty was showing a silent divergent act: he didn’t repeat it. “’Wow” the man thought with a certain scorn. “: we have a revolutionary around here.’” The other Mortys were finishing saying the phrase. When they saw that their teacher was not continuing, they looked at that calm Morty, who was receiving Rick's murderous eyes without fear. A Morty (this being a Navajo speaking Indian version) thought that Morty, that rebel, was dead. Rick O-682 was characterized by one thing: its severity. When in a doggy mood, he was even capable of breaking the Spartan Morty in the front row, and he had survived the Battle of Thermopylae and saw too much there. “Morty R-K80: why aren't you following us?” Between the name and the question, Rick O-682 gave a space between each part as a mere warning. During five years of pure teaching he learned that warnings and verbal power were more painful than any weapon of augmented zatrocos. Morty R-K80 didn’t react: it didn’t change its neutral expression in any way. He just turned to inspect his teacher. “Why?” That Morty was getting a good one. A few nervous laughs and these quieted down in a few seconds. “’In addition to revolutionary, he’s a spoiled jerk. I won the lottery.’” Rick was getting impatient with that shoddy brat, which poorly coupled shit. Now, he had to do something very important: not skimp on the stick. “Why, R-K?” He was going to start the debacle against him. If he had to be mad at this Morty, he would do it so he would learn his lesson. Since he had stood still for so long, his right foot ached like a thousand demons. And that only increased his anger.

“You question why, after having lost...? Lemme count: a dozen Ricks?” Asked the teacher. That was unforgiving, heavy as an anvil, and incredibly cruel. Everyone present was stunned: twelve Ricks? That was a cynical record. “If I remember correctly, they were all accidents caused by your ineptitude, R-K80. Accidents like five of them dying by gunshots, two by starvation, three by freezing, and one bled to death.” The same speed in which it came. It did not affect him one bit. Rick didn't notice, and he simply went to the board to point to the phrase that was written in chalk. "You, tell me what it says there." Rick was annoyed to point to the Spartan Morty, who rushed to get up. “Sir, there it says ‘ _Servitutem is, venerade_ ’.” “And what does that mean?” The Morty Spartan thought briefly. “‘Servitude is Respectable’”.

The teacher gave the go-ahead to the fourteen-year-old boy, who sat down. “And with that, class, is why all of you are here. Especially you in this school, R-K80: here you learn to be an ideal Morty, the Morty that all Rick wants. Our motto is Obedience, Intelligence, and Righteousness.” Everyone listened. Except R-K who was rummaging through his desk with disinterest. Rick walked to the board and pointed to the Latin word. And he couldn't see the indifference of R-K, who already had two things in his hands: a Pall Mall pack and an old copper lighter. All the Mortys watched him with their mouths open as R-K brought a cigarette to his mouth and lit it with a quick movement of his fingers. None of the other Mortys spoke. Rick O-682 hadn’t realized what his student was consuming. He turned around, and could barely hide his surprise when he saw _one of them_ smoke. R-K80 offered him the box as if it were a more casual situation. It shouldn’t, since Mortys must be in the best possible physical condition in case some dangerous circumstance should occur. "What are you doing?" Between each word there were spaces. The teacher became angry, much more than he ever could have seen. He started to turn red, and his eyes flashed a lot of hatred. Hate of the killer kind.

“Smoking. Usually some of you do so.” It was obvious what he was talking about. A challenge. That Morty thought it could be the same, that they could both have the same rights. “-You already signed your death sentence, you insolent brat-”. Morty took a drag, and didn't flinch. He already had smoking experience. A brief silence gave R-K80 a short time to take an extra drag. He tapped the cigarette, dropping the ash on the table. The smell of nicotine strongly invaded the room. A few coughed. “Right now, I want you to throw that crap out of your mouth.” It was an order, and the last straw. If R-K wanted to keep his life, he had put out that cigarette and rise up. "Why?" Rick O-682 shuffled the possibility of sending that insolent man to the principal's office, all fueled by rage and pain. Morty, smiling as he did previously, said this: “’In the neighborhood of intellectuals, with weapons and rancor, it isn’t just money and loves.’ Do you understand what I mean, professor?”

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M8F65q2U_XE>

The teacher stopped. That was weird. Something told him to go on, but this Morty... had something very different from any other Morty he had ever seen. Then again, he felt like this Morty was saying that to excuse himself. “You, Ricks are smart. Enough to steal from us, the Mortys, our freedom. They use us as guinea pigs for whatever they want. We're here” This time, Morty R-K80 took another drag and addressed not only Rick O-682, but his classmates. “being conditioned to be their product”. He pointed to Rick, who immediately felt more anger and disgust. A vein in his forehead began to throb copiously. “Submitting the prisoner by making him believe that he is free, is the best way to turn a Morty, a faithful puppy.” Morty smiled, laughed with a level of sarcasm. He turned to the left, and looked at a dog Morty. “Sorry if I offended you: I couldn't think for a better comparison.” R-K turned around and put a hand in his desk box. “You stole our mind, our freedom to live a normal life. I may have paraphrased the phrase that the Argentine policemen found at the Banco Rio Acassuso branch after the robbery of the century. It is not random. And there is another thing: who steals a thief, a hundred years of forgiveness.”

The teacher took a step, one that gave him a very sharp pain from the blister. “So I want to rob you, professor. I want my money, our money. I'm not a puppy, and I'm not following anybody's orders.” Morty R-K80 leaned forward, still keeping his smile. He paused. He exhaled. He didn't blink, and he kept staring at Rick for a second. "And less of a pathetic asshole like you.” The entire class opened their mouths, and there began the murmurs and terrified sighs. A psalmody like the one at the beginning of the class. Like a domino effect, everyone reacted in due course. The Mortys reacted with surprise and fear. R-K was going to continue his insolence. And Rick finally got out of his possibilities. How dare even that damn thing talk to him like that? He was going to give him a very great punishment, an exemplary one. His vein throbbed with greater force; his face went from red to purple with rage, and his eyes showed terror. “And now, with my loves and resentment…” “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The teacher interrupted completely drunk with anger. Morty did not show many signs of offense when he interrupted. Morty could see out of the corner of his eye that Rick was approaching with a heavy step. He was going to give him what he deserved; he was going to give him the lesson of his life. He took a few more steps. He kept insulting R-K80. Big mistake.

Morty R-K80 removed his hand from the desk, which he had kept hidden throughout that time. The first rays of sunlight were reflected in the barrel of a revolver. Morty in a blink of an eye hammered the gun and pulled the trigger. Rick O-682 was pushed back, with a metallic thud being heard before. R-K envisioned the bullet piercing the skin, flesh, skull, and brain. All the Mortys saw that, and within seconds, they started screaming in fear. They didn't get up; they jumped out of their seats to go like a stampede to the living room door (some stepped on Rick's fingers). Morty remained seated, until the last one came out. R-K got up and was slow towards Rick O-682. Despite having aimed to the head, he was alive. Morty managed to smile. Rick was not reacting. In horror, he saw Morty approach and look at him. “I have to report something to you, professor, and I want you to hear” RK patted his forehead, which was already starting to bleed. With this, Morty was able to verify that this Rick had a metal plate. He didn't know why Rick put it on. But then he asked himself: does it matter? Rick was trembling. He was looking at him, and he could barely blink. Morty wasn't sure what damage it had caused him, but if he couldn't get up and become a deadweight, then it meant he would never be the same again. Morty hammered once more. He put the nozzle into the hole the first bullet was left. He made sure the hammering process was slow. Outside was chaos. The chaos of various Mortys escaping from an assassin. “: consider this also as an accident.” In the living room there was another shot, and a blow. With the second bullet, the first was able to pierce the plate and complete its journey. From behind the master's head, blood gushed out like wine. Blood splattered Morty's body, and he was able to camouflage himself by the sweater he was wearing. R-K quickly took out his cigarette and tossed it aside. Then he withdrew with complete calm. Right there, the bell rang in the silent hallway. 

Ω

… nibbles… dodges that… fight, fight, fight! Damn… (it hurts a lot)… don't go; don't go, no! (I obey ... but, to _whom?_ ) Hey… what are you doing? Are you fine? “What are you doin’? Run away!” (wait ... run away from what? Does it matter?) No, it doesn't… run, run, run, run, run, and run… (What’s going on? Where I…?) DON’T, DON’T, DON’T!

Suddenly, scores of voices pooled into the ears of a Morty, one from dimension D-109: everyone in that dimension was humanoid rabbits. This Morty was on the ground. He had a cuprous taste in his mouth. He put a hand to his mouth, and he could tell it was blood. He spat out the other side at the ugly smell. His head ached, and he was terribly tired. His whole body was in pain, sweating, and he could barely see what was happening around him (what ... what’s going on?). D turned around, trying to assimilate what happened. A shadow was coming towards him… no, wait: it was a Morty. A-another. He was running towards him. Barefoot. A red-banded Morty karateka was going to grab him quickly by the feet. D was able to escape at the last second. He could have known perfectly the second in which to run by his instinct. The other Morty had an annoyed expression, and looked pretty rough. D was slow with his pain, but was determined to keep moving his legs no matter what. “What are you doing? Go for him!” Out of all the voices around him, one was from a Rick who was beginning to shout orders at him: to bite, to jump at him. Little by little, his vision improved and he saw to his horror that they were both surrounded by a fence. A large group of Ricks were watching them, yelling at them and making bets. For that distraction, Morty D-109 was kicked and pushed into the wall. “Finish him, damn it!” The ones behind the fence pushed him into the action, and Morty had to turn around again in the fray. He could barely understand what was happening: he was fighting… but, why?

“What… do I…?” The other didn’t respond. He looked like a killer robot. D tried to do something, anything that could save him. He could see between all his adrenaline and frenzy saw a lot of skinny mans: the same men in every men. He ran down the other’s leg to hit him behind the knee. His attempt failed when the other Morty punched him all over the nose, causing him to writhe even more in pain. There was blood from the impact, and then even more pain as Morty started to drag from his ears. He screamed with all he could, until he was thrown to put him back in the reins. He was starting to crawl back, completely lost in fear. He was sweating like crazy; his heart was going to explode from so many pulsations: a damn space rocket was in his chest. Morty kicked close to him to intimidate. D wanted to escape from the right, but the other put the other leg. With that, D lit the light bulb. He went the other way, and as expected, the Morty karateka put his left foot to corner him. The predator could not guess that the prey would attack him directly to the leg, biting as hard as ever. D bit so hard that he was sure he had already pierced the meat a bit. The other didn’t scream, didn’t howl, and did nothing to indicate that he was alive. D-109 almost jumped up and started beating fist after fist. They weren’t as refined as his rival’s, but he tried to make them effusive and tough. Two on the face, one on the head. D overflowed the barbaric boat when he kicked his rival in the balls, and finished it off with another punch when he squatted. The Morty karateka stood motionless for a few seconds, until his entire body staggered to the left to fall onto the dirty pavement so as not to get up anymore.

Morty walked away, seeing that: incredibly, he “won”. He was able to hear several of them starting to get angry in the crowd, and a few burst out with joviality for the winner of the fight. Morty felt as if it had all been a cockfight. Suddenly, like the blow that closed the meeting, the adrenaline went off. “Very well gentlemen; Rabbit Morty soared as if by divine action! It's time to pay, and nothing to run away!” Someone seemed to be a Rick by voice (Morty was between staying awake and falling passed out, and doubts completely flooded his thoughts) spoke through a megaphone. A couple of Ricks went ahead of the rest through a door of the cage to approach the other Morty and drag him between the two as if he were a sack of potatoes, while another -it should be noted that he was especially careful and good-looking- approached D and raised his hand, with the result of a gigantic ovation. One part was animated. The other, forced to pay for the lack of vision. “This is my lucky charm, you idiots!” That Rick seemed to be bursting with hubbub. And that boy, he was just in a twisted nirvana. A demonization, a disturbed version of that peace: it floated metaphorically, of course, but the feeling of tranquility was instead a feeling of restlessness and much, much confused fear. Those kinds of fear were very specific.

A few minutes passed, and the other two Ricks that lifted the Morty returned for D, carrying him in the same way. His feet shuffled across the floor. Now that he was feeling a little calmer, he began to think: was that place the sewers of the citadel? That faded when he saw that the walls were clean (all made of concrete and the corridors were hexagonal), there were lights on the ceiling, and there was no presence of bad odor -much less was there any odor.- “Come on, walk by yourself.” One of the guards said to D-109. The rabbit kept thinking… that… seemed to be an order. He walked, in pain. He could barely stay on his feet, but he did. What if they beat him to death like the other Morty almost did? Fear and paranoia were what drove him to continue. The corridors, more than labyrinthine, were hypnotic in that they all looked absolutely the same down to the smallest detail. Walk and walk. How far could it go? In the end, they came to a very special corridor. An iron door separated them from a special room. One of the Ricks went ahead and checked on Morty, who remained static and expressionless as much as he could. His fear was huge enough to run away, just as his body told him to make him feel like two predators. When the first Rick inspected it and made approving signs, the other Rick put his thumb on a blue screen. A light flashed from top to bottom, and there was a confirmation beep. They did not release it. His shoulder ached because they held him tight for most of the time. D widened his eyes in anticipation of what was on the other side. They made their way down a corridor that had rare blue walls that occasionally gleamed. Behind them were figures of the same silhouette of D, some not. They all seemed to look different. D was guided to a room, which was a space just for one: a toilet, a rectangle on the floor, and a trough. The Ricks put him inside. One of them pulled out of unknown where a gun. Again a small reflection made Morty want to run away. “Damn, that C-400K did leave it broken. See how it trembles! I think we will need something more stronger.” The other Rick with the gun reached into his robe for a capsule shaped like an oval syringe with a yellow substance. There was an empty space at the top of the gun, into which the capsule was fitted. They stretched out his arm, and stuck the nozzle into his pistol. There it ceased to be a pistol, actually a syringe.

Morty continued to hold still, though wanting to scream in fear and run away. Rick pulled the trigger, quickly getting the substance into his veins. They took out the needle, and turned around. D-109 just looked at them, wanting to be as calm as possible. The Ricks turned their backs on him, and one of them put his thumb on one side of the door, and another blue wall came out from between the edges, blocking the exit. Morty let out a big sigh as he no longer resisted the terror. He dropped to his knees and in vain tried to regain his calm, putting his hand to his chest and wishing his heart would calm down. He felt the pain all over his body slowly fading, like a gentle breeze closing his scratches, restoring peace to his body. D sat down on the rectangle, which was actually acting like a bed, with no sheets. Morty took in something: he put a hand to the nape of his neck, inspecting by touch to find something. To his surprise he could find something: a tiny, metal rectangle was nailed to his neck. A few bits of something stuck to his fur, and upon inspection he could see that it was something like glass. Then he understood it: he had a chip installed on his neck.

That gave him back his fear from earlier: someone put that manipulative token on him to force him to battle Mortys fights. And now, with that important piece of the puzzle, he was able to see the whole picture. Those figures were also other Mortys who were going to fight at the betting. He wasn’t in a room; he was in a cell just like the rest. And sooner than later, he was going to fight once more.

Ω

“Not so big now, are ‘ya?” “I never was; it was figurative!” _The Creepy Morty_ was being uninhabited of all the customers and workers leaving by the already finished shooting. A fat Morty cop was on top of another Morty in a dark pink jacket. He was about to, he was going to: his finger was inches away from pulling the trigger. “That’s enough!” He could sense by a shadow that he was being targeted to kill. It was his partner who was willing to take action on the matter. Was it serious that he had decided not to take the damn money? Did he have to screw everything up by his precepts? Why he can’t understand? “If we don't kill him, he'll talk!” “If you do, I'll talk. Don’t you understand that you are not being better than him?” And over and over again with his moral tirades. He doesn't understand, he just doesn't understand! A Morty in a cowboy hat spluttered an excuse to run away and stunned straight out. “You told me to put my faith in the right Morty. I got faith in you, partner. Do the right thing.” Morty hesitated. He had his opponent there, looking him in the eye. “‘-Why are you hesitating?’” He thought: “‘Kill him!’”. He could… he could pretend. Make it falter. His life was in his hands, he should. He was going to speak, he was sure of it! Also K-322 is involved and even so, he didn't understand that his neck is also in danger? What was he supposed to do? Killing him was the easy way out. “Please don't kill me; I swear, I’m not gonna say anything!” That simple phrase brought him back from reality. “Don't you see it? Let him go, he doesn’t worth it!” He doesn’t worth it… Morty C-094 saw his prisoner. The eyes of Big Morty were begging him to let him go. He implored. The police seriously wanted to shoot him. He should, but… something in his mind was pulling him to put down the gun, to drop it. That could be the right thing. 

Morty put his gun away, putting it in its holster. “A single word, and…” Morty pointed his finger threateningly, but it wasn’t necessary because Big Morty made constant affirmative movements and whispered barely audible promises. Morty turned around, and saw that Rick had put his gun in the holster for quite some time. Rick moved closer to him, keeping the serious face from before. “Hurry up, rookie: he won’t put the handcuffs on their own!” K-322 hurries and prepares the handcuffs to imprison him. They didn’t speak; they remain in a mutual silence. Big Morty tried to atone for his mistakes, which he promised under all the holy things that he would keep his mouth shut on the cops, on the corrupters, above all. None showed signs of listening (he said occasional ‘thank you’ under his breath). Outside, the rest of the patrols that came because of the scandal began to be heard, and both policemen saw each other. One’s brown eyes cast doubt, curiosity, searching for answers to find out why. The other’s blue eyes showed seriousness, with a degree of coldness, but at the same time, they showed comfort. Both police officers left the premises, and a police officer approached them. On the street, they were the only ones, in the middle of some part of Morty Town. “The hell happened in there?” Asked a cop who was barely leaving the patrol. Morty looked at him. “You know: the same ol’ shit.”

∑

They were both completely silent on patrol, and neither dared look at their partner. There was no noise. Rick felt his wound throb still: they checked him out and gave him an ointment to get better soon. Once and again they both looked over each other, asking to themselves the same questions. “‘He could kill me, but he didn’t’”. “‘And now what: we forget everything and become best friends?’”. “‘What are you planning?’”. “‘Why didn't you hand me over?’”. “‘What did I do?’”. The two of them were entering the next district of the citadel, seeing that by comparison the neighborhood looked like a filthy, disgusting corner of a giant mansion laden with luxury. No one noticed that corner until it was too late. At that, Rick decided to open his mouth: “And then I discovered that my partner is corrupt.” Morty ignored the taunt as much as he could. But the need to respond was as required as scratching a particularly troublesome urticaria. He was able to contain his tongue with it. “What: aren't you going to say anything?” “Nothing you don't have to know.” Rick was slightly startled with the answer: wait ... is he serious? Morty mentally scolded his tongue, clenching the steering wheel tighter than normal. He was trying to look anywhere other than Rick: out at the street, at a few Mortys who looked sad, even though many seemed to belong to the march in support of candidate Morty, or even to the damn sky. No stars in the dome light that changes to a simple blackness when the “night comes”.

“Sorry? And what was all that ‘the cops on his payroll?’” Rick remembered the conversation they had with Big Morty. Didn't he have to have seen his true self? Didn't he have to tell him about being a salesperson, having betrayed his ideals? Morty was getting annoyed each time: what he least wanted was to start a damn war in the car. “I thought you should be aware.” Excuses, excuses, and more bullshit excuses: just words to make him look even worse than before his new partner. Morty had to admit that he was on his nerves because of the ease with which he was letting himself go. Rick asked, and he answered. He needed to control himself. “Of what, of something like what happen your partner’s?” Morty bit his tongue to keep from speaking. Rick increased intensity and meddling, getting closer and closer to the truth. “You had to open your mouth, didn't you? Don't you understand that none of this would have happened because you decided to open your goddamn mouth?” “I'm a cop, not Jean Reno.” Morty felt a huge debacle of fury. He wanted to lash out with something, hit something, whatever it was to alleviate the frustration that Rick was generating with his blind faith in the rules, that stubbornness to put his ethics above everything. And it didn’t improve with those sarcastic comments. “Believe me, if you continue like this…” He couldn't finish the sentence due to an interruption from Rick; one after another it made him go mad. A Russian roulette of patience, one might say. “What: are you going to kill me because I am an impediment for business? Well, you can do it here and now. After all, nobody will give a damn!”

Morty, which was driving, stopped at a crossroads when they came to a red light. He did it with some violence, but it didn’t matter how empty the streets were that day. “You could also do the same. You even had a shot at _The Creepy Morty._ Who cares if we kill each other, if we're only a damn copy of the same two guys in the fuckin’ universe after all!?” At that moment, Morty lunged for Rick (not as much as to be so invasive) to almost yell at him. Since they got on the patrol, he finally looked the rookie in the eye. With this Rick could see perfectly that Morty was especially angry at his expression. However, he was not intimidated and maintained his accusatory face. “Being a meek dove that believes that the world is pink and that life is all smiles and cookies is a damn suicide, do you hear me? If you can't be on the top when everything goes to hell, what will you do: keep believing in your training manual or fight to live another day? Well, I don't think you want your corpse to be thrown into the space when you've been shot in the head!” With that, Morty sat back, trying to catch his breath for his entire speech. With this, Rick thought his partner must have been at the bottom of a dirty barrel for quite some time. Alone. “We don't have to be the same.” “We must.” Rick started again. He looked at Morty, turning with some suspicion. That ‘we must’ gave him a very bad feeling. “W-what do you mean with that?” Rick stutter. At that precise moment, Rick felt his entire environment was cooling. Maybe because of the silence that Morty silence granted, maybe because of his face, it doesn’t matter, the whole atmosphere turned from a frozen latent threat. “What do you mean?” Morty breathed slowly to encourage himself to say it. That was intentional in saying it because, was it fair that he didn't know?

“You’re also involved. Let’s be honest: in just your first day you broke eleven departmental codes for being my partner: first-degree murder, inaction” Rick was going to say something earlier because of the impulse of terror, but Morty could foresee it and continued speaking: “; no matter what you say or do, we are both equally guilty. So, if you don’t want to be in the shit, it must be done before…” Morty checked the mileage and saw the time: 6:47 in the afternoon. “Six hours before the camera log identifies everything we did. It doesn't matter what you do: just for having been by my side they will reject everything you say to defend yourself.” “Excuse, but do you think I'm gonna do something? I have reason to go to prison, and that's fair!” Morty blanched his eyes at that statement. “You can't, do you understand? Look: you have no reason to hide the truth, and I cannot convince you otherwise. Ah, wait, yes, I have something: don't be so obedient.” Rick raised an eyebrow at that. It was reality, but it offended him anyway. Morty said if he kept twisting his arm, he wouldn't wonder why his bad luck. “You can't solve everything by playing fair knowing that no one will play fair.” “Well then, I have to make the difference.” “If you say so.” Damn: he gave up on him, gave up on everything and everyone. If he wants to sign his death warrant, let him do it! Each one turns to see his respective window. The silence came again with more anger and discomfort contained in that police patrol: one for his pertinence to believe in the world, and the other for his insistence on following the rules that the world has given him.

Minutes later, a reddish light struck Rick’s face, which caught his attention. Morty muttered: “holy shit”. There were many fire trucks around a large building that was largely on fire. K-322's soul fell to his feet, his pupils became fine points in his gaze, and a cruel shiver spread down the spine: his home, his refuge, was being consumed by flames. As soon as Morty stopped the car, Rick got out and started jogging towards his house, as if he could fix his apartment with that mere action. A firefighter pushed him back. “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!” The fireman made the expression "hey" as if it were a mixture of hissing and scolding. “You can't cross, pal: we’re in an emergency!” Morty approached Rick, finally catching up with him. The igneous languages corroded the walls, the windows, everything that was there. All the tenants (all Ricks, a few with their Mortys) were outside, crying and hugging each other over the inevitable material loss. “What happened?” Morty asked the question that his partner couldn’t form due to the lump that formed in his throat. “No idea, officer: it almost started burning by, magic.” The firefighter turned and looked at the building, just to witness how a flame flew like an explosion, making all the tenants moan briefly with fear. The rest of the team was trying to appease the fire. “We may need more men. Hey” Said the firefighter when he noticed that the inhabitants were dangerously close to the area. “! Get them hell away from the fire, for the love of neutrinos!” The firefighter left. Rick saw the explosion described above, and let out a cry of horror. He put his hands to his head to brush his hair back, almost touching the bald spot behind him. “My-my discs” Morty comforted him as much as he could. “If you want you can stay in my apartment. C’mon: you don't have to keep watching this.-

∑

"Welcome home, Mortimer." A robotic voice greeted the cop when he opened the door to his house. Rick passed. Morty took a deep breath as he felt in his element: it was his home after all. To describe his partner’s apartment, Rick required the word “sober”: walls without pictures, a wooden floor, a kitchen, a table, an armchair, a moderate TV, and a simple room. The house could be anything but ostentatious. “I’m sorry about your apartment, rookie.” Rick was already swallowing the event as well as he was likely to… which was as likely as a paraplegic being the gold medal in the hundred-foot-flat. “Hey, yeah, don't worry. I'm going to miss my discs.” Rick tried to laugh to show that he was actually already getting up from the hard blow, but he only managed to make it laconic. Morty was surprised by that peculiar detail, especially in a Rick. Morty approached the refrigerator -which was well stocked with food- and turned to see if Rick could be offered anything. “Wanna something?” Rick shook his head. “Do you have beer?” Morty raised an eyebrow. Rick caught that perfectly. Morty grabbed a can of cola and reached for a glass to serve it to him. “Hey, rookie” Morty reluctantly made a few gestures to indicate that something was bothering him, although there was a certain nonchalance on his face. “: my house is your house. Sit down: I don't bite.” The kid added the last part to reconcile that Rick didn't have to stand like a stupid. Rick approached a chair, and sat down. “So the prudish lord likes music.” Morty also took a chair, and Rick glared at him angrily at the comment. He glared at him, but still said: “No one can hate the King. Or Sinatra.” Morty chuckled at seeing those refined tastes. “Ulala: now you really look like an old man.” Rick smiled, annoyed and amused by the little phrase: sixty-five years makes you already a recognized folk. “Why did you have discs and not something much more modern?” By that he meant that the vinyl discs compared to the revolutionary technology that a single Rick can achieve on his own had a world of difference. “Everyone has hobbies. Mine is to collect old records of good music.” Rick realized: he had sounded like a whining old man. He laughed at his own nonsense, and Morty did the same. Both noticed that they did it unconsciously due to fatigue, and in turn, because they two wanted to alleviate the tension they had in the patrol and throughout the day. Both knew that one had just lost his house, and the other was between a rock and a hard place because of his corruption. Neither of them wanted to accuse the other anymore.

Peace. A non-consensual peace, but in order. They didn’t name their taunts, yes, they kept them mentally. Morty couldn't go on because he might be rude; knowing full well that the last thing Rick needed was a bad more experience. And Rick knew that the awkward jokes were only to calm him down and forget the furious event, or at least to give him even a slightly more bearable welcome. “Well, let's hope for the best for tomorrow.” Morty got up, and retired for a few minutes to his room. Rick followed him with his eyes. He had already taken half the glass without realizing it. Perhaps it is because of the weight he has in his eyes, the stress of the day that was positioned on his shoulders as the greatest burden that this man has had to see. So many secrets, so many revelations from his partner were rare: heartless, sunken, but, with all those characteristics and what he may be able to achieve for what he wants, why is he being so “kind”? He’s planning to kill him while he sleeps? Would the drink have poison? Subtly Rick smelled the glass: nothing. Clear. Morty C-094 came with a pillow and a sheet that he put on the sofa. “Thanks.” Morty made a gesture that said: ‘there’s no reason.’. Morty followed him with his eyes until he reached the sofa, then said a brief “rest”, then disappeared down the hall. Rick didn't take off his uniform -except for the shoes, vest, and tie- and stared at the empty ceiling with very little cracks there. No lights passed through the window, the night silence was almost ideal, and it was much sweeter cold that invites you to relax. Even though his partner’s house was simple, Rick felt… comfortable. He thought that nothing more was needed than those things. His wandering, probably, is caused by… fatigue…

Morty supervised. He listened, and kept listening until he was sure he was knocked out on the couch. Finally, he was able to leave with finicky moves until he reached the door and leave with all the subtlety that his body allowed. He went down the street. He looked at his wrist watch to check the time: nine-seventeen. Two hours to make his plan, or loose in the attempt. Morty approached the patrol to drive the police station into overdrive. It is time to go to the top to save himself, before everything goes to hell.


	2. Reservoir Mortys

The night, the cold darkness could have perfectly covered the streets. If it weren't for the spotlights, and the lights of the C-094 patrol the streets will be the darkest. The police station was about five minutes. He was keeping the best step that the law allowed him. Or rather, the laws that were imposed so that he would not receive reprisals from absolutely anyone. Morty could be corrupt, he could be a street dog, but he wasn’t an asshole: he knew quite a few things. Lying, planning a quick objective, knowing how things work to carry out that plan when the situation requires it. And how did he know about it? Simple: he learned. And he learned it sooner rather than later. He had it, and he should.

Morty gave the brake a good kick (it was more a ship than car, plus the patrol cars were made to be as quiet as possible). Three blocks from the police station. He was obviously not wearing his uniform: completely dark garments like very dark grays and blacks. A jacket for two reasons: because of the hood and because the nights in the Citadel are especially cold. In case anything, gloves. And finally a small bag on his shoulders. You could tell that from what he had already done, and what that Morty is about to do, he is somewhat meticulous. He also took into account even the smallest detail about his things. He had a little gadget in his pocket for a reason that got half caught by the tightness of his jeans. Morty rushed up and lifted the hood to finally get out of the patrol. He went out and looked at the street: almost empty. Maybe there was some Morty out there in the distance who was partying. Or maybe it's a Rick. Does it matter? No: for something the cop went straight to the police station without wasting time over trivialities. Mentally he analyzed through all the work: going up the stairs behind the station and entering through the roof. Taking off one of the gloves to put his thumb in the door: it was basically like giving a child the keys to a toy store. With Morty’s fingerprint on the building’s security platform the alarms and the system to kick him out would not activate. Fortunately for him, the data and recording platform for the entire Citadel was near the roof. He needs to avoid the guards, enter by the roof, and do his magic. Morty checked his watch: he had a good time or so with an hour and fifty minutes. A nice forecast it was almost a gift from heaven. Morty ventured up the pace from a normal walk to a good trot.

Ω

“Come on, dammit, do something, don't run!” D ran as much as he could, as much as his terrified body allowed him. He was leading another Morty. A new day, a new fight. This was nothing compared to the previous one, since the other only had his bare fists, muscle and a look from very few friends ... this one had a katana as long and sharp as threatening, unusual agility, and an insurmountable determination... oh, yup: and also a look from very few friends. Obviously D did what anyone would do in a situation like this in the beginning: flee like a madman at the vorpal slash of the sword. But having heard the cry of the Rick who “commanded” and had to pretend that he was still controlled, Morty did what he could trying to avoid the cuts. He dodged to the left for a right hook attempt that struck the face but made no dent. The Japanese Morty recovered without showing any sedition and went after him, hitting him on the temple with the pommel. He fell to the ground in pain. His opponent was going to drive the sword right into his head with a vertical slash that descended rapidly. Morty was able to dodge it, but was hit in the shoulder when the Japanese Morty reversed the slash to the right. D got up. He knew that Morty was not in his five senses, but he couldn't help being afraid of him. However, he had to venture to do something that could well cost him his life.

D swooped up to that Morty, heading for the most sensitive part that beasts attack humans at: straight for the neck. Fortunately he was able to knock him down and hold the hand that held his sword tightly. The other obviously tried to resist and brush off the rabbit with his other hand. But D didn't back down. For a few good tries he was trying to hit the chip. He grabbed his neck as if to choke him, and to make sure, he punched him making his head reel. When he squeezed, he cracked the chip as secretly as possible, until he felt that the chip was beginning to give way a little. For a few seconds he saw that Morty’s eyes were full of emptiness even though they were full of fury. A mechanical, automated fury fit for a robot. Now D could see a nice contrast in that look: brief confusion that was interrupted by a quick hook that served to flip him over and put his face on the pavement. D hid as best he could to whisper into his opponent’s ear. The Ricks thought of the rule that if one opponent kept the other immobilized, he could win. “Listen ‘ta me, you’re being controlled, they want us to fight back…” D could not finish because his plan had an obvious flaw: the Japanese Morty was not going to collaborate with him just like that. So he was able to get away with a kick to the foot and throw it away. He got up and picked up his sword. D got up quickly. And he got up in the exact moment to see how the sword traveled diagonally towards his chest.

His blood came out fast, almost rushed by the impact. The sword, the face, everything was impregnated with the mortal red. In turn, Morty turned and lost his balance from the force of the impact. It fell to the floor from the mouth, further staining the concrete. Morty could only think he had a terrible idea. He could hear several quick footsteps heading for him. And now, it only remained to wait for the best… for the worst to come? Yeah: wait for the worst to come.

Ω

Morty successfully intruded into the police station, nearly closing the great vault behind him. The third floor of the police station was guarded for anyone who wasn’t in the police force, and the searches took up the entire floor. Everything consisted of several memory blocks that reached almost to the ceiling. Morty didn’t go completely there, but not before making sure to see everything around him to examine the enclosure. He had squatted in and closed the door silently in case there was a guard inside. He pricked up his ears for a few seconds and reached for his backpack to pull out a tiny laptop. It was already on so it showed a kind of radio, similar to the sonar of a submarine. Morty was walking slowly with the finicky movements of someone fat: a lot of scruple that does not cover anything, and going with the tips of his feet. The sonar was telling the police the path, which was more or less where the eighth memory block was. These flashed little lights randomly, like the lights on a Christmas tree. The boy went there to find the sonar switch to a phrase in white letters:

“ **INSERT TRANSMUTATOR** ”

Morty took out something similar to a flash drive from his pocket, but the connector had a more oval shape. The boy directed the other end towards the laptop in a hole by the edges and leaving it stuck there. He pulled a few seconds later for a light blue wire to pop out. Morty didn’t have to dig any further, as he set about finding a place to connect the flash drive to the memory block using the other end: like a metal tracer he directed the flash drive towards a hole in the block. With trial and error Morty was finally able to insert the device directly into the block and with it, the laptop screen opened windows that illustrated a folder called “cameras”. The policeman typed carefully so as not to make too much noise. Opening the folder, new folders slid out, with the names of each part of the Citadel. Morty was typing until he found the images that accused him and his partner. He right-clicked on that and a bar of options slid down, but the boy only noticed the section that allowed him to write a series of commands, which he entered:

**< L: /TR4CK IM4G3=CH4NG3>**

**< S: /Altering Image?>**

**[YES] [NO]**

Morty slid the pointer to the yes option. Upon clicking it, another window opened that said:

**< L: /R3PL4C3M3NT PR0C322-0%>**

That put Morty in a good mood, and then he reached up with the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He turned to monitor the door in fear. When he saw it, he wanted to stay focused on that damn door and that no one came in. However, his thoughts called him to recall the conversation he had with his partner: playing dirty in the game of life was a basic rule in a world full of cheaters. What did he expected to happen in the police world when your first day arrived? Expecting something from that world was tantamount to waiting for hell to freeze. Waiting for something was futile. Why are Rick’s hopes for that system tipped over? Maybe, Morty thought, it was because he was too innocent, for something he was like a virgin girl and about sex, he completely ignored it. He ignored a lot of stuff.

∑

“Uh… are you going to wake up or not?” Rick slowly opened his eyes when he saw that Morty woke him up after several attempts. “Hi.” Rick got up from the couch and stared at his partner who was still more or less the same since last night: with fatigue in his eyes and the expression of “what are you starin’ at me?” perpetually on his face. “I stopped by a market and bought one of those cookies that you Ricks like.” After that, Morty pointed to the table that Rick had in front of him. The _Simple Rick’s_ were there, along with a cup of Cafe Sánchez. “Thanks, I guess.” The man got up and took the box and opened it with some caution, and smelled: no poison. “If I had wanted to kill you,” Morty noticed what his partner was doing, and decided to speak: “you would never get up from the couch.” “’Ya don’t have to be nice to me. And why didn't you shoot yesterday?” “Everybody does things ‘cuz they can. Don't think about it too much, okay? It's six am, and I don't feel to talk ‘bout that.” Morty made several gestures of annoyance which caused Rick to finally stay silent and approach his cookies. He opened them and put one in his mouth. “Um? Weird…” Morty looked at him strangely while he was eating a donut. “It tastes like a tragicomedy.” That only made the boy completely dumbfounded by that word to describe a food, and also by the face of a certain level of displeasure that Rick had when he chewed the cookie.

Morty put that aside and took the remote of his television (which looked as a big, thick glass) to turn it on and watch the news. The two stellar Ricks gave a brief greeting, and began with the greatest premise: “So folks, after an extremely close electoral campaign and with a vote recount included…” “More like a pity move.” The second reporter murmured with sarcasm: the other didn’t mind at all. Both police officers knew instantly that what the reporters were going to say was something that had been seen coming from the debate of the presidential candidates. “‘The result of the first president of the Citadel is already known: the candidate Morty won with fifty-two percent of the votes’” The editors of the channel displayed a bar chart so that everyone could see the total of the votes: that didn’t matter because they had a populist leader now. The president had not even passed the litmus test.

The newscast changed its image and they passed the reporter outside a hospital where the president was presumably due to an attack that took place before the voting. They showed the video: he just left the debate, and among the public that crowded to see him, one of them fired at point-blank range… that was useless, because he aimed near to the shoulder and not at the head. The president was to be greeted by his voters when he was discharged, which appeared to be soon. “I can’t believe it: did he win?” That got Rick thinking a lot, since the vote was just a day ago. While all the citizens went to the polls, they went to the ruins of the slums.

Ω

Two characters were sprinting up the stairs to head to the platform and get into their car. They opened it quickly, leaving the five bags full of wads of bills in the passenger area. The tallest one drove at full speed, checking everywhere to see if any police were approaching. They were going at an impressive speed. In a few seconds the police could appear and catch them in the middle of the escape. One of the thieves removed his mask, revealing Morty who was sweating. “Well Rick, we did it!” “Not so fast, kiddo: look back.” The boy did, and he could see a few patrol cars just arriving at the bank. “Jeez, what are we gonna do, Rick?” “Headin’ ‘da hell out of ‘ere, obviously!” “So what-what's going to happen if they catch up to us…?” “We're going behind bars! I can't believe how such an idiot could you be, Morty! Be better than your pathetic father or…!” Suddenly, and while Rick was not visualizing the road, something hit in front of them, rolled off the ceiling, and fell behind. Morty looked but couldn't quite see the person. Everywhere he looked, policemen appeared approaching from all directions. “Oh no Rick: we crashed over somebody!” “Do you think that's our biggest thing we screwed up today?! We've got millions on our hands, you fagot, and we’ve got the fucking cops hot on our heels, and do ‘ya fucking mind for a random dip…!” “RICK, AHEAD!” The police put a barrier of tacks in front of them: they had surrounded them and they couldn't stop on time. They were going at a speed of at least sixty miles per hour and used a gray Honda as their main exhaust. Rick tried to turn and used the brakes, completely with no idea what was going to happen.

The first tire to go off was the front right. By turning so abruptly, what Rick caused was that the car began to skid, as the asphalt was wet from a small morning drizzle. As the tire exploded, it gave a small push, albeit a push strong enough to overturn the car in three fatal turns. In the first, the bills spilled out of the poorly closed bags, Morty hit his head hard against the dash, causing bleeding, and Rick felt his wrist fly off the windshield and snap in two with a barely audible crack. In the second, the roof and doors cracked like glass. Morty was shaken even harder but not thrown off thanks to the seat belt. However, he couldn't help but get roughly slammed against the window. And on the third lap, Rick felt his neck break down from hitting the ceiling and not wearing the belt. He died almost immediately. They were left upside down. Morty saw everything blurry, feeling an ugly hiss in his ears. Something warm was coming out of his forehead, and he felt terribly dizzy. He looked around, and thought he saw a pair of legs turned upside down (or was they upside up?). He didn’t know. He could only work together to close his eyes, and pass out from the pain.

“Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, be…!” Morty tapped his watch to stop it making that hideous noise. He got up and saw that it was an early hour on Saturday: seven fifteen in the morning. The boy went straight downstairs to be greeted by Jerry. He was having a cup of coffee and had the newspaper in hand. When his son was on the second lowest rung, Jerry finally noticed him. “Hello, son. Did you get a good night?” Jerry looked at him with a smile, and took a taste of his cup again. Minutes later, Summer came down, wearing her yellow _Marc Jacobs_ top _._ A few seconds later, Beth came out of the kitchen: she was bringing breakfast, which was a classic egg with bacon and orange juice. “Good morning, family. Morty, could you please give me a hand with the rest?” Beth pointed to the kitchen. His son obediently slipped in and went there to get everything ready. “How did you sleep last night, son?” This time the question was Jerry again, noticing that Morty was particularly lost in his thoughts. “I had this weird dream… I was assaulting a bank with Rick on a Honda.” “That sounds like something you two would do.” Morty saw that Summer had finally cleared her phone to grab the fork for a piece of bacon. Jerry conceded that answer, and Beth glared at them, disappointed. Morty thought about that and it was clear that it was something they could do. But the thing is that the dream for Morty felt _very real_. “Ah, that reminds me: I haven't called dad to come here.”

Incidentally, the lamp on the table moved slightly, along with a distant creak. Everyone at the table looked up at the ceiling in time to witness this. Everyone knew who it was. “I'll call him; just give me a sec…” That wasn't said by Beth or by Jerry or inclusive by Summer: it was said by Morty who immediately got up from the table with a more severe gesture. “I don't understand why he still lives in my house.” Morty was going to the entrance of the stairs, when he heard his father mutter that. Summer reacted and yelled at her father to look him disapprovingly. Beth looked at him with a gesture mixed between some understanding and disagreement. The comment paralyzed Morty for a few seconds. He wanted to open his mouth, but he caught himself and climbed up as if he hadn’t heard anything.

Morty went up to the second floor and stayed near a small door that was in the ceiling. Morty stood on tiptoe and reached up to pull up the stairs that led to the attic. They couldn’t find a better space for him to stay. Morty climbed up to the attic. Rick had made him a window and what was necessary to make the attic as comfortable as possible. There was a nightstand that had some dust on it, and a punching bag that was already a bit worn. Morty went to a great mountain of sheets that rose and fell like a compass. Morty pulled gently to meet Junior's back.

He’s half human, half Gazorpian as Rick ruled after a quick scan of his blood. Just having four days of life didn’t mean that it was already a whole mountain. He must have been about six feet (when measured four or six hours after he was born, he had the size of five-foot-five-meter), and an appearance of sixteen or seventeen in mental areas such as physical. Morty effusively asked Rick to do something to delay Junior's short lifespan so that he would live almost as long as the average human life and Rick did so… much to his regret. Morty rejected that his son did not have a chance to have a “normal” life, and asked to him. Rick said something like: “everything has its time for die. I’m not a god, and if I was, I won’t do that favor for you!” Morty persisted until he finally gave him a purple vaccine. Between the time of that, Junior was able to grow rapidly from five to his current age.

His father approached him carefully to wake him up. “Morty Junior, um… breakfast’s ready… are ‘ya hungry?” The boy said that with some fear. Normal, since the men of Gazorpazorp are as strong as they are fearsome: one touch of them and he will be destroyed. Morty Junior trembled in his sleep, and got up with some grim slowness. Only four pairs of arms instead of six, crimson skin and a robust body. One pair of those arms was where the ears should go (no one in the family understood how Junior could hear). The son looked at Morty with a sleepy look, and growled at him in greeting.

“Morty! Morty, where ‘da…?!” Rick suddenly appeared from the stairs, which put Junior in a worse mood as he growled at the presence of him. Rick didn’t see him as a human, and Junior saw him as an asshole. “What are you doing? I need you for something!” Rick climbed up quickly, and took Morty by the hand. He still didn’t want to leave, but his grandfather pulled him away. The only thing Morty could do was give her son a sidelong glance, which was left annoyed and grumbling in her bed.

The next thing that happened, Rick rushed Morty out. As he did so, Morty saw a car: a gray Honda. It was terribly similar to the one in his dream. ”Hey Rick, whose Honda is this?” “A 1300 Hatchback” “Whose Hatchback is this?” “Zed's.” “Who's Zed?” Rick made Morty sit in the passenger seat, and turned to get into the car. Beth went out to see her father and son went for a travel. The man stared at her and said goodbye to her with a smile, and she waved goodbye while taking a sip from her coffee cup (she thought that car was really ugly). Rick entered. ”Who is Zed, Rick?” Morty repeated. Grandpa sat down and put the key in the ignition. He started the car and looked at Morty as he buckled up. “Zed’s dead, Morty. Zed’s dead.”

[Ramblin' Gamblin' Man-Bob Seger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLYEE2Ww0hU)

Rick was driving the Honda calmly, with the radio on. The sun was beautiful. The summer was ideal to go with a car that was not a wreck like the Honda: maybe a Coupe de Ville from the sixties. “So: you recognized the Honda, right?” “How did you know I dreamed of this car?” “Because, in the first place, it wasn't a dream.” That made Morty pale. Although Rick seemed quite comfortable with it. ”So what are we doing?” “We're going to get eight million, Morty.” “Wait, why eight and not one?” “Because it's already a cliché that a group of thieves wants to steal a million dollars, so-so as not to be so cliché but without ceasing to be cliché, we’re gonna steal eight million dollars.” That left the boy confused: was such a hackneyed explanation really necessary? “Um… how do you plan to do that?” The two were passing over a bridge when Rick inspected inside his gown to reveal an oval, gray-colored control and a single orange button, protected with a transparent ceramic. He left it in plain sight. “Don’t get upset, but we're in a time loop. Fucked up, but I made it. I think I'm the only Rick in the universe who did it.” “… Say what ‘na?” Rick kept the control and responded quickly: “If we both die, or we get to midnight, the day’s going to start again. Don't make that face, kid.” Morty found himself completely terrified at it: “A-and little by little we are going to die with each try?”

“Nope: I made sure that won’t happen. Although, the trouble is that we only have five attempts. We’re on the second, Morty.” The boy made sounds of disagreement that indicate that he is supremely scared at that information. He didn't like that detail of being locked up in a death-after-death temporary prison at all, and worse when his grandfather didn’t even tell him about it… wait… when does Rick inform him about his outlandish ideas? “It's like the _Groundhog Day,_ Morty: l-like that Bill Murray’s movie.” Morty didn't quite understand that reference. Rick grumbled at the boy's emptiness and said; “It's like _Happy Death Day,_ ‘ya got it?” Morty understood better with that idea. “And nothing from Shmeckles?” “Fuck, are you going to shut up? Don’t try to think so much ‘bout it. Just imagine you on a resort with all the family in the Bahamas. Why not?”

Rick stopped the car at a motel. In front were a few cars. The most notable were an ambulance and a black Karmann Ghia convertible. “Good: time for plan b, Morty.” “Um, Grandpa Rick; what will happen if we don't make it?” Rick looked at him as if he had said something outrageous. He was silent, and from a second to another his good humor was over. She turned off the car and replied: “The machine stops working, and I won't do it all from the beginning.” That was said in an angry and intimidating voice, and Morty felt his goosebumps appear, his tremors that he tried. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.” Rick stepped out and spoke, changing his attitude in a snap. The change left the boy completely dismayed. “C’mon, step up ‘yer ass here now. We don’t have all day, are we?” Morty unbuttoned himself, and got out of the car to venture out, not knowing what plan his grandfather might do.


End file.
